


Blood of the broken, thicker than money of the womb (ignore the shitty temporary title)

by bigsweatersandcuddleweather



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Culture, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Slaves, bride sellers, mobster, more tags later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:28:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsweatersandcuddleweather/pseuds/bigsweatersandcuddleweather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only son of parents who only wanted girls to sell as brides, Zayn has known his place since birth, his responsibilities in the house and his dynamics in their backwards thinking family. His father, strong and dominant, the breadwinning financial and disciplinarian backbone of the family. His mother was the leader in the totalitarian household. Her every word was law, the same as their father on the household hierarchy. His sisters, on the other hand were on the very tip of the pyramid. The top priority in every aspect of everyday. Their every demand, beck and call answered to. But in a family of bride sellers, that was the norm.</p>
<p>And him? He was the lowest of the low, seen not as their son, but nothing more than a servant to his sisters every beck and call, only there to attend to their needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A major work in progress, couldn't even find a title after a fucking hour of contemplating so just ignore whatever shit I put up there. But please read and tell me what you think and maybe even suggest witty spiritually embodying possible titles?

Zayn has known his place since birth, his responsibilities in the house and his dynamics in their backwards thinking family. His father, strong and dominant, the breadwinning financial and disciplinarian backbone of the family. His mother was the leader in the totalitarian household. Her every word was law, the same as their father on the household hierarchy.

His sisters, on the other hand were on the very tip of the pyramid. The top priority in every aspect of everyday. Their every demand, beck and call answered to. But in a family of bride sellers, that was the norm. **  
**

And him? He was the lowest of the low, seen not as their son, but nothing more than a servant to his sisters every beck and call, only there to attend to their needs. **  
**

 

“Oi, where is he? Zayn, hurry up and bring the lemon juice, I’m getting cold here.” Waliyha’s voice shouted through the cavernous hallways of the nearly dilapidated manor, wafting to the hunchbacked scrawny lad who hastened even faster. **  
**

“I’m here. Here you go Wali.” he said breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest to try and catch his breath. His younger sister was sitting perched on a small low stool, tight cloth wrapped around her chest and trailing to mid thigh as she turned to glare at her older brother, hair trailing down her back in a frizzled mess.

“Took you long enough. Now hurry up and rub that in. And then set the alarm for exactly fifteen minutes. I won't have you fucking up this day for me.” she said harshly, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as Zayn crept closer, cupping his hand to cup the mixture of lemon juice and olive oil, delicately thin fingers combing through the thick coarse tendrils of hair so that each strand saturated the healing liquids to give her hair a bright sheen that would make other envious.

“Zayn, once you’re done you need to go and help Safaa apply the skin cream and get her tucked into bed while the rest of us go over the the Shahid’s. Understand?” his mum stood in the doorway, adjusting the dupatta that draped over her head and shoulders in precise flowing folds, a more subdued sari adorning her curved figure and complimenting her flawless skin. His mother was a beautiful woman, no doubt, as well as his father, which is how they were able to sire such attractive offspring. Atleast where the girls were concerned.

“Yes ammi.” he muttered quietly, keeping his eyes downcast as he was taught, never to overstep his ranking in the familial hierarchy.

“And start taking the rugs out to beat the dust away and make sure to lay out the girls clothes for tomorrow, put them in my room, and don’t you dare touch the gold. I will know if you do.” she said with an offhand wave of her hand, dismissing him so to speak as he was distracted by her husband’s calling her name.

“Yeah trust the boy with picking out clothes, because Zaynie actually has a sense of fashion.” his sisters snide remark didn’t go unnoticed by Zayn but it didn’t even register as he continued rubbing the oils into her hair, before gathering it all in a bun at the base of her head and tying it off expertly, setting the timer that was set in the corner before leaving the room just as silently as he appeared, never to be noticed, just as he was raised.

It was both conventional and out of the ordinary, their way of life. The tradition of ‘selling’ a bride to her future family for an exorbitant price had dated back to the B.C’s and traveled through the ages right to Zayn’s grandparents, even Zayn’s mum had been ‘bought’ by his father, and naturally the tradition would be passed right down to them. But to his parents disappointment their second child had been a boy when they had been praying for another little girl like their first born, and while to so many families that would have been a reassuring joy, he had simply been shoved to one side, shuffled between random servants until he was old enough to take care of his sisters and cater to their every need. Because in his family, he wasn’t a bride. He was simply a lad who would eventually need a wife and in no certain circumstances were his parents willing to spend money, instead of making it.

While his sisters had spent their childhoods pampered, having the best tutors to educate them in English, languages, Maths, as well as their mothers lessons in beauty, sewing, cooking, maintaing a conversation, pleasing their in laws, dancing, basically shaping them into the perfect trophy wives, Zayn was trailing behind them, head bent under the raised arm that was ready to strike at the slightest mistake, learning to hush his voice, because nobody wanted to hear him. **  
**

“Zayn finally!” his baby sister groaned, turning from where she had been facing her vanity, a scowl marring her round baby cheeks. He didn’t answer, setting the pile of clothes on the edge of her bed to reach for the round pot that stood among the other face treatments on her little vanity, reading the label to make sure it was the right one.

“No! I don’t want that. It smells absolutely horrible and itches. Get that away from me.” she hissed, flailing her small arms in the hopes it would dislodge the dreaded skin whitening cream. She had been cursed with her father’s dark skin as opposed to her mother’s fair one and now used store and home remedies to try and lighten her genetics.

“You have to Saffa. _Ammi_ says to put on the mask, and get a good night’s sleep, remember Doniya’s wedding is tomorrow?” he said softly, glancing up from his from his feet every few seconds to try and gauge the child’s reaction. He could see the promise of fun and excitement was outweighing the uncomfortable face cream.

“Fine. But be quick.” she grumbled, closing her eyes and attempting to control her fidgeting as he did as he was asked quickly, covering the surface of her chubby baby face, plaiting her hair down her back after he had rubbed it down with olive oil for a bit of sheen after she washed it tomorrow. Once he had her dressed in a nightgown and tucked into bed he closed the door, noting the voices that were echoing down the stairs and quietly made his way down there. His father stood towering over his sisters and mother, arms crossed over his chest and a stern look on his face as his sisters were donning their overcoats, covering blinged out clothes, soft dainty feet sliding into sandals and _dupattas_ over their hair.

“You, make sure that the house is ready for tomorrow, the cleaners are going to be here early, and the decorators are coming immediately after with the garlands. And I don’t want to see you at all tomorrow, do I make myself clear?” his father stood menacingly towering over him, a large rough hand clasped around the back of his neck.

“Yes sir.” he whimpered, trying to stop himself from bucking off the threatening touch.

“Good, now go and disappear like a little rat.” he sneered, wrenching his arm so that he flung Zayn down, landing on the floor with a painful snap of his neck. But he didn’t react, merely staying down and keeping his eyes on the floor as the others started departing.

“Doniya hurry now.” the sweet tone in which his mother spoke to his eldest sister made Zayn bite his tongue against the bitter feelings.

“I’m coming _Ammi_ , give me a few minutes.” she called back, already stepping forward to crouch beside her younger brother.

“Oh Zayn.” she sighed, reaching out with her henna covered slim hand, bangles jangling as she cupped his face, hidden behind the layers of fringe that kept him feeling blissfully hidden.

“You need to go Doniya.” he whispered, scooting away from his gentle sister, the only one in the family who showed him affection whenever she could.

“I know, but what are you going to do when I’m gone baby brother? I don’t want to even think about how it would be after I’m married.” she sighed, pursing her ruby tinted lips in a rare show of anxiety, usually she was like their father, nonchalant and a wall in front of their emotions.

“Please go Doniya. You’re going to get us me in trouble.” he whispered, immediately casting his eyes to the floor as he saw the shadow of his hulking father come lumbering back into the room, deepset eyes glaring at him carefully.

“Doniya, we don’t want to be late. It’s not a good impression to your in laws.” his father said, his tone noticeably softer than when he was speaking to his only son and eyes gleaming with affection as he reached for her hand.

“Coming _baba_.” she said, gathering her skirts and surprising both of them men by stepping forward to cup the back of her younger brothers head and press a kiss to his hair curtained forehead, lingering for a minute.

“I will come up with something jaan. I promise.” she whispered fiercely, forcing Zayn to meet her eyes, so similar to his own except hers shined with a fierce protective love that he never saw in anyone he shared blood with.

“Doniya, now.” their father demanded, taking her by the hand and gently jerking her toward him, walking them both out the door, without a second glance at Zayn who watched them go, used to seeing their backs as he hung back, pleas to stop and wait for him having died on his young tongue after his father had come back and given him a beating so bad he couldn’t see out of either eye and limped to do his chores for weeks after when he wouldn’t even let him see a doctor. And that was when he was six.

Now, he simply watched them go, grasping his fingers tight until they were gone before shrugging and walking away, towards the living area. He needed to finish the chores before they got back. This was the only thing that he was good for, they had let him know that from the very beginning.

There wasn’t a time where he hadn’t known his place, not even as a young lad with big eyes that watered as his mother brushed him aside in favor for his sisters or his father who chose to smoke pipes in his den surrounded by his friends, shoving Zayn aside whenever he begged for the slightest bit of attention.

He had grown up with his parents proud of their background, always taking his sisters out to family gatherings decked out in the brightest blinged out clothes, delicate glass bangles lining their thin wrists and jewels adorning their fingers, necks and even hair. And he had followed along, on chubby legs that could barely support his weight, head down and careful to be quiet, shying away whenever his aunts or uncles tried to coax him into playing or talking, knowing from his fathers look that he would be in even worse trouble if he did. His whole childhood seemed to be a fit of trouble, always looking down, never to be heard, always running to get where he was needed and punished when he couldn’t be in five places at once.

Even his education was half assed, just like every other attempt to have his own life, being pulled out in the middle of second form because there was no one at home that could take care of his sisters like he could, as patiently and obediently, like a little bitch his father had teased as he signed the papers taking him away from the one place that gave him a vague sense of importance and further diminishing any dreams he may have formed.

“Remember this Zayn. I am not willing to shell out thousands of dollars for a bride for you, so unless you can woo one for yourself then I won't approve of any marriage with a girl thats not a part of the bride selling community, is that understood?” his father had asked him, looking him in the eye with a seriousness that he hadn’t expected or had directed at him unless in anger.

“Yes sir.” Zayn had made sure to keep his eyes on the floor, knowing that’s where they belonged, knowing he wasn’t worthy enough to dare look anyone in the eye. It left an unsettling feeling in the pits of his soul that craved a purpose, something bigger than combing out his sisters hair and performing meaningless tasks that dulled the wants that constantly churned right under the surface of his skin, always there, an irritation that he just couldn’t get rid of.

* * *

 

 

“Oh, Doniya.” Zayn couldn’t help the soft sigh that pressed through his pursed lips upon seeing his older sister, hair and makeup done and sitting in front of the vanity in the first moment of peace that she had been allowed since the day had started, giving Zayn his first opportunity to see his sister, and probably his last.

“Come here Zayn.” she called just as quietly, as if coaxing a timid lamb from it’s hiding place. He stepped through the door and took a few steps, stopping several feet behind her, afraid that he would taint the absolute glow that seemed to emanate from her every pore. The make up smoothed over her soft skin was smooth and gave her the look of perfection, highlighted cheeks that gave her a sharpened look, eyeliner smooth and winged with dramatically soft eyeshadow that seemed to offset the true warm color of her eyes, a headset dangling between two thinly primed eyebrows to match the thick heavy necklace laying against the collars that were exposed in the top of the amazingly bedazzled lehenga, beaded heavily all throughout the top so that only the silver and gold that exposed the bright red of the heavy skirt, with the same beading along the thick fabric that fell to her feet. The elaborate scarf was draped over the bun laying curled on the bottom of her neck, a sign that made her seem more demure and shy.

“No, come closer little brother.” holding out a slender hand, trailing designs of henna and fragile bangles trailing up her arms. He hesitated, but seeing the naked trust and gentle reassurance in his sisters eyes he slipped his hand into hers and she tugged him until he was kneeling at her feet, cheek pressed to the rough beading of her dress but he didn’t flinch, basking in the feeling of her fingers caressing his damp hair, an affection he has wanted from anybody and he would take with no questions asked.

“How do I look jaan?” she asked in a practical hum, jewelry clinking as she moved.

“Beautiful. Amazing. He’s so lucky to have you _behn_.” he said, almost reverently as he chanced his luck to take in his sisters face, wishing for his scraps of paper to try and take in everything he saw...possibly for the last time. He didn’t know what would become of him after Doniya was gone, her being the only thing that guaranteed him a humane place in the house.

“That he is. For the amount he’s paying however kind of makes us even.” she said softly, caressing the dips and concaves of his gaunt face with a gentle touch, remembering the tiny little thing that used to watch her with an eerie silence, used to being beat into a quiet submission by that point. She remembers how he would run away and hide as soon as her father was home, never to be seen until he was called for and then disappearing right afterwards. She remembers wanting to throw up and scream when she saw fists raining down on his tender skin as he wailed and muffled his cries in chubby fists clenched between growing teeth. Too young to understand how viciously unloved, but he knew and accepted it. And the only time he had ever reacted was when he had been pulled out of school, clutching his books and pleading to go, the only thing he had ever wanted more than a sketchpad that one of his teachers had  gifted him in sympathy, to which his father reacted by tossing him to the ground and tossing all his books out the door into the rain, including the beloved sketchpad. She doesn’t remember the last time she had ever seen her brother let out that genuine laugh, let along a chuckle or even a smile, always serious with his head bent, shoulders tensed for the insults to come flying. A life that nobody deserved, especially not someone who devoted himself to his sisters and family as Zayn did.

“But you’re worth it. He will make you very happy and you’ll live such a nice life and have a big family and ...sorry. Didn’t mean to talk so much.” he cut himself off from his ramblings, remembering that it wasn’t his place to speak unless he was asked something directly.

“Oh Zayn, you should be able to talk as much as you’d like. You’re so smart and whoever you fall in love with will love to hear you talk all the time about anything and everything.” he reached for his hand, pulling him up until he was on the couch next to her, mind whirring in an attempt to try and straighten the thoughts, to figure out a way to tell him what has going to come of him, to break the bad news before someone else did.

“I wish I had been a better big sister to you _jaan_. You’re so beautiful and smart and I wish I had told you that everyday so that you would know that. And I wish I had been able to save you, but I couldn’t and I’m so sorry. So so so very sorry.” unable to say the wards as his confused ambers looked at her in way that said he would step in front of a bullet of in jump in an endless pit to make her happy and it twisted the wrought iron rusted pipes of guilt she had been carrying for years.

“What? What is it Doni? You’ve been a great sister, I couldn’t ask for a better person.” not understanding what she had been saying about saving him but it brought on a feeling of apprehension and dread that made his hands shake.

“No, you don’t understand Zayn-” her words interrupted by loud laughter as people barged into the room, loud colored _dupattas_ with jangling jewelry as the young girls came to steal the bride away and escort her downstairs. They all paused as they saw Zayn whose head bowed upon their arrival.

“Doniya, it’s time.” Waliyha said, stepping forward and pretending like Zayn wasn’t there, something that was only too easy for her to do from years of experience. Zayn made to stand up and leave, to escape while he could but Doniya’s grip on his hand held him down, forcing him to look at her curiously and anxiously, glancing at the door every few seconds for those heavy footsteps that signalled his doom.

“Waliyha, go to Jawaad and tell him to give you what I asked for, the rest of you wait outside.” she demanded, reaching for her hairbrush and pulling Zayn closer so that she could run the brush through his damp locks, molding them into place in a swooping motion and running pomade through it until it stood tall and handsome, soft looking all the same.

“Doniya, what are you planning? It’s your Walima and you’re going to be late.” Waliyha asked, still standing in the same place, the pale pink scarf framing her face in a delicate wave with her hair draped over one marrow shoulder.

“Waliyha, go and do what I said. I swear to god.” she shouted, throwing the brush in the direction of her younger sister who cursed under her breath and scurried to do as she was told.

“Zayn, look here. Right at me. Deep breaths and focus alright?” he didn’t realize his vision watering and drifting out of focus as his erratic and anxious breathing sped up. He didn’t know what was going on and it brought on a feeling of unease  and fear he hated.

“I’m going to cover up some of those bruises and make you look a little healthier _jaan_. Then you are going to put on the clothes that Waliyha brings, you’re going to hold onto my hand and lead me downstairs into the party and you're going to sit right between Anthony and Danny where I can see you and know you’re safe and you're going to have fun and laugh and smile all night because you deserve that much.” she said, running a wet wipe over his face, followed by a paper towel and pulling out pots of thick cover up that she started mixing trying to match his skin tone.

“Doniya, baba won't like that.” he said thickly, feeling the panic on the horizon at the thought of his fathers reaction to seeing him like that.

“I know. But baba isn’t going to like everything and if he loves me and wants the money he’s going to do as I say.” referring to the price her groom was paying for her.

“I don’t want baba to be mad. I have to be here in the morning, you don’t.” flinching away from the cold liquid as she dabbed it on some of his worse bruises.

“Don’t be so sure about that lovely.” she said, not wanting to say anymore and was thankfully saved as Waliyha came stomping back in, tossing the bag at her older brother who caught it reflexively, used to having things thrown at him.

“ _Ammi_ says to hurry up.” she said simply, going to wait outside with the rest of the girls when Doniya didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

“Okay, my gorgeous baby brother. Put on these clothes and then come straight out here. Okay?” she asked, looking at him straight in the eyes until he nodded and went to do as she asked, hands shaking at the thought of being around that many people. The clothes were familiar in style, but he had never had something like this, nor clothes so new, usually getting his Baba’s hand offs that were too worn or small, still too large on his slight figure anyway. It was a black button down shirt that fitted him snug in a way that didn’t emphasize diminished figure but made him look bulkier, and tightly fitted trousers that he tucked the shirt into. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in an attempt to calm his beating heart from the feelings of constriction. It was odd, to be in clothes close to his size and actually feel...good.

“Oh Zayn, absolutely handsome. You’re going to have a hard time trying to keep those girls off of you. You might even get someone offering their daughters to you.” Doniya yammering in the same excited method that Zayn usually did, abruptly shutting up when a look of realization dimmed the happiness in her eyes.

“What is it Doniya? Why do you look so upset? What happened?” he asked, reaching out to brush the pads of his finger against the back of her hand. And it seemed to be enough to jar her from her deep thoughts as she simply smiled indulgently at Zayn, holding out a pair of shoes.

“Nothing for you to worry about. Now put on these shoes and I have a present for you. It’s from Amir.” referring to her soon to be husband, reaching into the waistband of her skirt and pulling out a watch, heavy and big and obviously expensive.

“I- I can’t take that.” he huffed, backing away as if the watch would hurt him.

“Yes. Yes you can. It’s from me and Amir and you’re going to wear it and think of me at any chance you get whenever you see it, understand.” his sisters voice had taken a menacing tone as she stomped forward, yanking on his wrist to pull him closer and slap the oversized watch there, gleaming against his tan skin. He wanted to protest, to say that their baba would see it and lay claim to it, even if it was on Zayn’s arm. Because Zayn belonged to him and anything that was Zayn’s was automatically his. He didn’t need any other reason.

But it was the first gift he had ever been given and that greedy attention craving part of his heart wanted it more than anything.

“Thank you.” he whispered, taking a chance and reaching forward to pull her into his arms for a hug, taking the initiative for the very first time and taking them both by surprise.

“Don’t thank me just yet Zayn.” she said into his soft luscious locks, gripping him tighter when she knew she would have to let him go.

“Now come, it’s time for you to give your sister away.” _And yourself. I’m sorry. So so sorry. I wanted to save but I’ve damned you even further._


	2. Unexpected Goodbyes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could only murmur as he felt the drugs racing threw his harshly pumping veins, sight blurring as he was rolled onto his back by rough hands that gripped too tight and moved him surprisingly gently. Looking at everyone his eyes landed on Donya, whose makeup ran down her face, looking completely heartbroken and he hated himself for his last thoughts of wanting nothing more than to wipe her face and hug her forever right before he was thrust into the dark abyss of forced unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, updates are going to be slow but since I'm off from school for the next two weeks I will try and get through as much writing as possible but don't expect much!  
> The less you expect from me, the happier you'll be when you see something.

“Don’t look at him. Don’t let him get to you Zee.” Danny’s thick deep accent sounded close to Zayn’s ear and he couldn’t help but flinch away, not used to someone being that close to him.

“Sorry.” he said instinctively, trying to pry his wide eyes away from the glare of his heavy set intimidating father who wasn’t even attempting to hide his glare directed at his only son from the other guests.

 “Don’t be. Enjoy. Eat.” nudging a plate topped with more food than Zayn would ever be brave enough to take for himself.

 “Um, I’m not that hungry.” which wasn’t a lie...completely atleast.

 “Zayn, you're gonna sit here, eat this food, stop worrying about how angry your father is and celebrate. It’s your sisters wedding day and she’s going to cry and you’ll probably cry with her and then she’ll leave and you need a little happiness babe. Alright? Relax and let the consequences be damned.” Anthony said, an arm around Zayn’s narrow shoulders, the plate shoved further until he picked up a fork and tucked into the plate with Danny and Anthony talking over him, hands petting his thigh and his back surreptitiously so that no one would see but he was grateful for it nonetheless as it eased his nerves.

Once he had brought Doniya down here it had gotten quiet, the Malik son that nobody had seen, who he had claimed was weak with chronic sickness was walking in timidly, clutching the hand of his older sister like a lifeline. His father had been livid but at least attempting to play along like it was a miracle, clapping a too heavy hand on his shoulder, a warning of what was to come. He wasn’t used to having so much attention on him, people coming up and shaking his hand, asking how he was in gentle hesitant tones that spoke of their belief that he was ill and too fragile to handle roughly, all eyes and heads turning every second he was up, until Doniya was safely seated beside her groom and his two ‘friends’ had rescued him into their midst.

 “Danny. I’ve got a bad feeling in my gut. Something bad is going to happen.” he murmured, leaning into his friends side, taking comfort in the touches that they were giving him. It was a feeling in his gut, roiling with anxiety that didn’t sit well and made him even more on edge.

 "You're just worrying too much. You're going to make yourself really ill if you don't relax?" Danny whispered as the people seated around them leaned in closer in an attempt to hear what was being said. He was a mystery to them all, someone rarely seen so ofcourse when he finally emerged it was like a field day, too many eyes and ear lurking.

 "No, I-Ant please." he gulped heavily, shoving away the food that had been sparsely nibbled on and turning to the bigger lad on his right side. He could feel the tremors multiplying under his skin and it set him on edge as he caught a pair of glaring dark eyes coming from the stage, his baba's low peaked hairline coming lower over his creased forehead and he felt himself sit in a forced calm as his heart raced, those eyes telling him that there would be hell to pay once the evenings festivities were over.

"Hey, no. Don't Zayn. Just look here, right at me." there was a hand nudging at his cheek, gently urging him to turn back toward Anthony who was holding out a carton of cigarette.

"Come on babe, let's go for a smoke." standing and waiting till Zayn was by his side before leading him through the masses and out the side door onto a balcony that he promptly shut behind them. Pulling a single cigarette he pressed it to Zayn's lips, lighting it up and demonstrating how to do it. He didn't exactly like the way his gentle vulnerable friend looked with slim fingers grasping the death stick but he didn't like the way his shoulders had been curling more and more in on themselves as he kept an eye on all the people staring at his open back.

"Ant, what's going on?" Zayn voiced his growing anxiety as the cigarette withered in it's flame. He felt like everybody knew something that would affect him and he didn't like the feeling, of unawareness, of isolation although he had felt it nearly all his life.

"Zayn, honestly? I don't even know. But I can feel it too. Don't stress though. Me and Danny are going to be with you the whole night. Jawaad is going to be there too and Uwais and Shehroze. We're all here and we've all got your back. If things look back we've got a plan. Okay, Doniya's leaving but were going to get you out of here too. Just stay close to us tonight. Okay?" Ant asked, reaching out for the cigarette dangling dangerously close to his shirt from loose fingers.

"Really?" no, he wouldn't let himself hope. There was no hope for someone like him. Who would actually really want him? Nowhere close to a real man and not close enough to a girl so that he could be sold to a rick family for a hefty sum. He would probably be shuffled from house to house, from one friend to the next until they all got tired of his shit and sent him back home, back to his father and to the life he had known before.

"Yes, now let's get back in there before your father sends someone out. I think about to do the mirror thing." he said, leading the way back into the hall where they stood a ways away from the crowd and watched as his parents along with the grooms parents held the green clothe over the couples head, handing a mirror through a gap where hands were help out. It was tradition, in a time where the couple didn't even have a glimpse of each other till the actual wedding day, they would see each other in the mirrors reflection, not a true glimpse, that wasn't until they were alone. 

"She looks happy." he muttered, taking his seat back in between his friends as Jawaad and his two other cousins joined them in the vacant seats at the table. She did look happy, as happy as her somber mask would allow.

"Zee, you want some dessert? They have chocolate cake. I know how much you like that." Jawaad chimed, smiling as he saw his older cousins eyes light up, although he fought the urge, forcing himself to slump down and appear meek and obedient. He didn't even want to know how long it had been since he had actually had any of the delicate sweet that he had so loved as a child.

"Um." eyes glancing surreptitiously, looking for someone to give him permission, or in his case to deny him.

"That's a yes then. Anyone else?" getting a few nods as he waved over a waiter and asked for the slices of cake.

It made Zayn nervous to see someone else serving him. That was his job. That's what someone as useless as him was good for. What good was he if someone else was doing his job? He wasn't left to his own thoughts for long as his cousins and friends kept trying to pull him into the conversation and watching the wedding procession distracted him sufficiently enough that he surprisingly enjoyed himself, aside from going up on the wedding platform to take a picture with his family he rarely interacted with them at all.

"Alright Zayn, this is how it's going to go. You're going to pack your bag, that duffle bag that's going to be sitting under Doniya's bed. Tomorrow I'm going to come and say my uncle wants you to come for some tea and seeing as he's your dads older brother he'll have no choice but to obey and I'll bring my bag, fill it with trash and swap the bags, take yours, and then we'll get you out of here." Sheroze said as Danny pulled him  in for a hug, followed by Anthony, all of them looking at him with this sad hope, not knowing that it was their own sadness at having to leave him for even a night. They didn't know about the things that he had been put through at his own fathers hand but the suspected. But all they knew was that they needed to get him out of there as soon as possible. It was only because of Doniya that he had managed to escape the worst of his fathers wrath but without her he was doomed indefinitely

"Okay. Just-" he grabbed onto Jawaad's wrist, bony emaciated fingers gripping surprisingly tight as a pleaful whine escaped his lips.

"What? What is it you need Zayn. Tell me." his cousin, his baby cousin by four years was already nearly towering over him, a look of such protective concern in his gaze that he wanted to bathe in it, bask in affection and love but he feared it would never be enough.

"Don't- don't leave me behind. He- he's going to kill me if I stay longer than a few days." glancing with too big eyes in his gaunt face toward the door of the wedding hall where his family was slowly proceeding, Doniya clutching her fathers hand in a show of grief of having to leave her childhood home.

"He wont. I swear to you that he wont. Now go and say bye to your sister. I think she's looking for you." Danny nudged him in the direction of his family, as he timidly made his way forward weaving through the crowd until he was standing among them.

"Zayn. I'm going to miss you _chota Bhai."_ Doniya's arms wrapped around his shoulders,  glass bangles jangilng softly as she pulled him to her perfumed chest, letting her surround him with the memory of how she felt, because he didn't know if he would ever see her again.

"I'm going to miss you too. So so much _behn_." he choked, careful of his face as so not to disrupt the makeup Doniya had applied, before turning to the new man in his siters life, tall, handsome and probably rick, taking his older sister, his shield away from him.

"I may not look like much but I can hurt you, and very very badly. I think you know what I would say to you normally but just understand this. Respect her and if you ever make her feel any less than the amazing person that she is there will be hell to pay and I'm going to be coming for you, understand?" he growled, mustering that anger and strength from somewhere he didn't even know he possessed. Glancing at his parents he knew he had overstepped his boundaries too far so he stepped back as the guests began filtering out, saying goodbyes to the bride and groom until there were only a handful of stragglers, not even Pakistani from what Zayn could tell, but he just brushed it off as his fathers business acquaintances.

 

Until they walked forward and stood in front of his family, arms crossed and positively oozing power and this negativity that had Zayn shrinking back, especially since all of the attention was on him. 

"Yaser, you're not planning on backing down from your end of the deal are you?" the tallest one said, muscles compressed into that tight suit jacket as his buzzcut hair did nothing to hide the near black brown of his eyes.

"Ofcourse not. What kind of fool would you take me for? He's all yours." he said, waving to his side, where Zayn stood. It took a second to realize what was going on and that now everyone in his family was looking at him, Doniya, her in laws, his sisters, even his parents were watching his reaction.

"W-what?" he finally spoke, remembering the most important rule to never make eye contact as he bowed his head.

"What? Are you really that stupid boy? I said that you were all theirs.  You really thought that you could be that clever into tricking Doniya to your escape plan? That I wouldn't find out what you were planning with those...friends of yours. He's not getting away from me that easily, not without me making the most I can out of him. But thank you for confessing. You're such a good daughter, you'll make an excellent wife." his father positively beamed at his older daughter as his only son watched on in dawning realization. Immediately he sought out Danny, Ant or Jawaad but they were gone, their little group was the only one left in the reception hall.

“I-I don’t know what’s going on? Why am I going with them? Doni?” his desperate confusion had the older  girl turning away fearfully, trying to stop the tears, not even realizing that they were already falling.

“Zayn, stop embarrassing us. Do as your father told you and go pack your things.” his mother snapped, father nodding along like a ridiculous bobble head. His head fell almost naturally falling into a more obedient position, eyes downcast in shame, and he shuffled to follow their orders but the simmering panic manifested into anger couldn't be contained and he was whirling around to glare at his so called parents.

“No! I don’t understand. Who are they and why do I have to go with them?” turning to chance a look at the men who were watching him in surprise with cocked eyebrows and arms crossed over their chests, exuding power with every firm look, a power that intimidated even more than his father.

“Zayn Javaad Malik. How dare you-”

“Excuse me, Mr. Malik? If you don’t mind, we’ll take it from here now.” one of the men spoke up, stepping toward Zayn’s dad as he loomed over him. Zayn was more than shocked as he watched his dad step down almost immediately. This was a bad sign. The new man came closer, the sharp cut suit clinging to his built arms and although he wasn’t as tall as his friends he had a glare about him that made him seem infinitely taller than Zayn.

“Zayn. My name is Louis and I am your new guardian. That’s right, your father sold you to us and you weren’t cheap. So stop yelling, go and get your things or we can just leave it all behind because you are going to come and live with us whether you like it or not.” the man, Louis was firm and stern, eyes cold and withdrawn as he exuded impatience and suppressed anger that made want Zayn to keep and do as he was told, like he had done his entire life, but he his emotions wee in a whirlwind and he couldn’t get a hold of it.

“What? You’re lying. He-he can’t do that.”

“Oh he can. And he did. Legally you’re my charge and you belong to me. He wants nothing to do with you, would rather have the money than a son.” now the older man was taunting him so cruelly with a smirk and pitying tone.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to deserve this punishment?” turning back to his family who wouldn’t meet his eyes at first, Doniya holding onto the hand of her husband who was looking around confused with the dramatic scene, but dutifully holding onto his new brides hand.

“Answer me! I deserve that much.” it was like all those repressed moments of courage had built up and released in volatile moment and he couldn’t stop the adrenaline coursing and pulsing in his veins.

“Because you are you. We know where your sisters will end up because they are girls, they can provide us the comforts later in life with the money they will give us. But you, a boy who will grow into a man, we would have to end up finding someone for you, expensive and you will rely on us instead of going away and leaving us to retire in peace. We don’t have room for boys in our life, especially ones as unlovable as you.” his mother stated, playing with the tassels on the end of her scarf, not even willing to see the devastation splayed along her young sons face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a girl like the others but why not just kill me if you’re so willing to just sell me to any person willing to offer, like a prostitute. Fuck all of you. Especially you Doniya. Why would you make me feel loved only to spring this on me? Was all of that upstairs in your room just a ruse? I hope your marriage fails and he breaks your heart, like you did to me.” he wanted to shout, to scream until their hearts broke just like his was, like it had been breaking for as long as he could remember, adrenaline waning as his anger abated and curled up around the shards of his insides, he felt the nerves failing and his instincts were telling him to go, run, hide.

“Grab him.” someone called as he turned toward the door, only to be slammed to the ground after three steps, his arm wrenched behind his back as he bucked and fought, a pinch on his upper arm rendering him limp in mere seconds.

"Why? Why me? Why why?” he could only murmur as he felt the drugs racing threw his harshly pumping veins, sight blurring as he was rolled onto his back by rough hands that gripped too tight and  moved him surprisingly gently. Looking at everyone his eyes landed on Donya, whose makeup ran down her face, looking completely heartbroken and he hated himself for his last thoughts of wanting nothing more than to wipe her face and hug her forever right before he was thrust into the dark abyss of forced unconsciousness.


End file.
